A Long Road
by DeniseV
Summary: Colby finally has the surgery.  A conclusion to my earlier story Did You Hear the One...  But Colby and the Numb3rs crew never manage to do things the easy way.


The phone call seemed long ago and far away despite the fact that only a few minutes had passed since they had been in touch with their boss. The loudly pinging ricochet of the high-velocity bullets said everything about why F.B.I. Special Agents David Sinclair and Colby Granger remained hunkered down – and cornered – in the Los Angeles Harbor warehouse. The towering metal racks were the temporary home to sundry cheap product being imported from China and the far reaches of other Far East countries. It was also where the two F.B.I. agents had tracked their prime target, the chief planner and importer of young women in this part of the country, a human trade ring that had resulted in the deaths of twenty-two women in one shipping container just two weeks before. It was not a new story. The labor was cheap, the desire of these young girls to get to America for the hope of something better was somehow worth the risk. Sinclair and Granger knew that these uneducated youths. . .they hesitated to call them women as even the oldest that had been found, probably around twenty years of age, hadn't lived a life worthy of the title. . .never knew what hit them, never recognized the danger they put themselves in when they walked into the giant metal coffins. These containers lined the wharves; neither man wanted to think of the possibility that there might be other vessels holding young lives in the balance. No, this method of transporting human cargo didn't always end in death, but it rarely led to the freedoms those so willing to risk death sought.

More sparks, and metal-on-metal clatter made the two men duck further.

"We need to move," Colby said as he squinted to the area where their quarry hid. They'd hardly got a look at anyone before the gunfire erupted. And it wasn't the likelihood of a direct hit that now worried them most: the metal frames of the storage facility easily tripled the chances that one of them would take a round. Professor Charlie Eppes, math whiz at Cal Sci and frequent F.B.I. collaborator, would likely surmise that the odds were decidedly worse for them than that.

"You first," Sinclair joked, though it was no laughing matter how quickly they had become the hunted. They'd obviously come to the right place. Granger had managed to get a faint signal on his cell phone, but barely said a word to his boss before the lost signal indicator popped up on his screen. He was pretty sure F.B.I. Special Agent in Charge Don Eppes had heard the sounds in the background; there could be no mistaking what that noise was. He just got out that they had Madsen and Chen before the technology in his hand cut out. He trusted that F.B.I. technology would still be able to track the G.P.S. signal.

"No, you should go. I'm a better shot," Colby said, knowing the reaction he'd get from his partner.

"Huh, every other day maybe," David countered, though if he was forced to he would have to admit that the man crouching beside him was better at placing a bullet at a distance exactly where he wanted. Too much time palling around with Ian Edgerton. "You should go. You're faster."

"One more reason why you should go."

Sinclair was forced to concede this point. The element of surprise would be in their favor once one of them stood and ran for cover. The next one to move would resemble nothing if not a sitting duck. Luckily, Granger's speed would put him back on somewhat even footing.

"We could just stay put," David said. Moments after he said it, a hail of bullets came their way, one skidding dangerously close to Colby's ear, after it skimmed one of the rails to his left. Granger's eyes grew wide. "Felt that one, didn't ya?" Sinclair asked worriedly.

"Are you gonna go?" Colby asked, growing tenser and decidedly weary of the banter.

"Yeah. Since all of the weaponry seems to be coming from the north and east and west," Sinclair said, nodding in that last listed direction, though all of the ricocheting off metal made it hard to pinpoint an exact location. "That way doesn't seem to have ready exits. I'm heading over towards those boxes." Large wooden crates were stacked twelve feet high on the south side, in the direction of the loading docks. Far more ready egress. . .an actual chance at getting out.

And infinitely more protection from all of those multidirectional bullets.

"Don should be here soon. Stay low." Granger reloaded and nodded to his partner that he was ready.

"Yeah," David said, though the phrase 'hope springs eternal' came strangely to mind. He was less sure that Granger's brief call would result in the cavalry coming. Even still, Sinclair took off, staying low and zigzagging his way to their new hideout. Colby laid down rapid cover fire; he'd surely catch hell later for wasting so much ammunition.

The F.B.I. pair had grown so in tune with each other that Sinclair knew exactly how long his partner would take to reload once again, marking his count from the moment David's head had slipped out of view. It seemed a miracle to both men that they'd gotten their groove back after the whole Janus List affair. So Sinclair was prepared when Granger popped up and headed his way. As expected, the bad guys anticipated the move; the bullets coming fast and furious. Colby ran his own pattern to the crates, different than David's. He was just short of the safer zone, just feet from his protected partner, when the sound of a bullet penetrating flesh was heard, a far different sound from the one that echoed a chorus around them as the lead projectiles hit wood all around. Granger dove the last couple of feet and landed hard in a heap just behind his best friend.

"Damn it," he ground out as he grabbed for the wound on his upper arm. That initial reaction gave way to the reality of their situation: they were still being fired upon, and Colby was needed to help defend their new position. He took his hand away from the hole in his arm, allowing the blood to ooze menacingly, wiped his bloody hand on his vest, and then pulled out his weapon once more.

"You okay?" David called.

Colby snorted his disgust. "Timing sucks."

"Like there's ever a good time to get shot."

"Right now is definitely a bad time." Sinclair wasn't catching the meaning in the current frenzy. Sirens could now be heard, low and plentiful, followed by the screech of braking tires. The partners stayed low and kept a steady volley of bullets flying toward the purps. David looked to the dock and saw his boss and others heavily equipped and ready to lend a hand.

"Don!" he yelled.

"I've got ya!" Don Eppes shouted back. He raised the megaphone and announced, "This is the F.B.I. You can't get out of here." Bullets continued to come from farther inside the warehouse. Sinclair and Granger had stopped firing, this time happy to remain hunkered down until Don worked out a resolution, or at least signaled to them their next move.

"Madsen and Chen! We know you're in there." The gunfire had slowed to a trickle. "You can decide right now whether you walk out or we drag you out." Eppes let that sink in and then added, "Dead or alive. That's also your choice." The F.B.I. team, now nearly twenty-strong, remained in assault position, weapons aimed in the general vicinity of their targets. The human traffickers were done for, and they knew it.

"All right, all right! We're coming out!"

"Drop your weapons and come out with your hands on your heads, fingers locked together," Don ordered. Weapons could be heard dropping to the floor, and then two men, one white, one Asian, walked out. As they neared, Colby and David rose.

"Shit, that's not Madsen," Colby said so that his partner could hear. He raised his gun then, and yelled that information out loud as warning. Bullets came from father down the storage aisles. A third man. Madsen. The F.B.I. had not moved from their covered positions, but the person firing didn't seem to care who he hit. Chen went down, shot in the back. His white partner threw himself hard onto the equally hard concrete, but not before a bullet took half of his head. Blood puddled quickly beneath the dead man.

The F.B.I. team fired, full-bore, into the darkness. Don quickly ordered a halt to the assault and called, "Madsen, come out!" Moments went by. "Madsen!" Eppes directed a tactical unit with shield to move forward. A stray shot or two landed on the protective wall. The four-man team, with Don trailing behind, continued inward. Don nodded at David and Colby, who joined behind the shield. He frowned as he saw the blood on Granger's upper arm. He looked into his agent's eyes, pained and weary. It was time to finish this.

And they did. Robert Madsen lay in Section B, Row 2 of the warehouse, breathing his last breaths. That would leave Eddie Chen as the sole surviving suspect. Their evidence was incontrovertible, and this event alone would add enough weapons charges to keep Chen in prison for the rest of his life.

Don Eppes turned to his two team members. "What the hell happened?"

"They knew the lay of the land better than we did," David explained.

"That can happen," Don accepted. He turned to Colby. "Good job getting on the horn so fast." Eppes noticed that the young agent looked very pale, and seemed to be leaning, listing even, towards his best friend.

"Colby?" Don asked. The agent from Idaho looked at his boss, and then turned to David.

"I'm gonna sit," he said as he turned around some more to look for a spot to do so. The warehouse and all of its contents seemed to tilt, and Colby Granger found his face slammed hard onto David Sinclair's muscular shoulder.

"Whoa, partner, take it easy." To Don, David said, "We need an ambulance."

"Nah. Just a scratch," Colby argued. Don yelled for someone to call for an ambulance and other needed transport and then turned to Sinclair.

"Stay with him. Make sure he gets to the E.R. He's got an appointment to keep next week."

Ah. _'Timing sucks.'_ That's what Colby had meant. David looked to his partner. Adrenaline was the F.B.I. agent's best friend, it was a factor they counted on, except when you crashed from an adrenaline high. Getting shot during a shootout was the highest of highs when it wasn't life-threatening. But the exhaustion felt after the adrenaline leeched from your body left you with a wound that would have knocked normal people out. Needless to say, Colby Granger wasn't normal people. Unfortunately, the feeling that was left was a miserable one; David empathized with his friend. He sat down next to Colby, making sure not to knock into his injured arm. He pulled out a pressure bandage from the med kit Don had one of the agents bring over. He gently moved Colby's hand away from the wound.

"Still bleeding," he said as he used scissors to rip the shirt away from the bullet hole.

"Bound t' happ'n," Granger muttered. "Lotta runnin', firing. . .juiced up."

"Yeah." David wiped away some of the still-oozing blood but realized it was a losing effort. He placed the bandage over the wound and said, "Help should be here soon."

"Uh-huh," his partner answered. "Bullet's still in there."

"Yeah, must have been a ricochet."

"Mm-hmm," Colby agreed. "I c'n feel. . .'s not too far under th' skin. Prob'ly r'move it in the E.R."

"We'll see," David said. Sinclair understood what his friend was hoping for. No surgery. No possible complications to mess with his lung surgery scheduled for the following week.

Once Eppes had finished checking on the two dead men, and their prisoner, he made his way back over to his agents.

"How're you doin'?" he asked as he kneeled in front of Colby.

"Peachy," was Granger's tart reply. He immediately felt remorse for the attitude. "Sorry."

"That's all right. You guys had 'em pinned, didn't you?"

"Not really," David replied. Though it might not have seemed the case to the casual observer, his best friend was now leaning heavily against Sinclair's shoulder. David looked at his boss and then cocked his head slightly toward his partner. Don caught the look, understanding his senior agent's non-verbal indicator to help him keep Colby awake. "We just escaped from back there," he continued, again using his head to indicate the direction from which they'd recently run. "Too many ricochets. . ." David was interrupted by Colby's snort.

"At least one too many," the injured man commented wryly. Leave it to Colby Granger to find humor in a decidedly unfunny situation.

"And that's funny how?" Don asked with a smile.

"I have no idea. Maybe just ironic," Granger managed tiredly.

"Ironic?" Don continued to coax his friend in conversation.

"Yeah. Like maybe that surgery isn't meant to be." Don and David exchanged worried glances, and then Sinclair answered.

"Nah, that's not it. You just wanted an excuse for some desk duty."

"Yeah, because paperwork is my friend."

"Practice makes perfect, pal," Don said as he patted Colby's ankle. "That sounds close," he added, noting the emergency siren's call as it grew louder, more strident. "I'm going to go point them in the right direction."

"Thanks," Colby said with a heavy sigh. Eppes headed toward the now open first bay of the warehouse docks, giving David a look that said _'stay with him'_.

As though such a look or such an order were needed.

"He didn't seem too upset," Colby said as he leaned even more into the solid comfort of his friend.

"Why would he be?"

"'Cause this might delay me gettin' back to active duty. I'll be riding the desk now. . .it'll be close to three months 'til 'm back."

Longer, David thought, if there were any complications. It was a long time to be without his partner. Don was bound to have to bring in a replacement. Sure, he'd likely work with Nikki and Liz during much of that time. But David Sinclair had been with the agency long enough to know that they would look at this time as an opportunity to break in a new recruit. It was something the F.B.I. both dreaded and looked forward to at the same time: an available senior agent with whom to place a newbie, recognizing that it meant they were a man down when it did happen. They were fortunate this time that being one down wasn't due to more dire circumstances.

"That's not really something that you need to worry about," David offered soothingly. He could tell that the energy was seeping from his best friend, moment by moment. It didn't stop Colby from talking, though.

"'m worried they'll. . ." he started, sighed heavily, and went on, "pair you witha new recruit." Granger turned to try to get a better look at Sinclair's face. He grimaced as the movement jostled the bullet that remained lodged in his arm.

"Stay still," David ordered.

"Be careful, will ya? You know how the new ones c'n be," Colby warned.

Now it was David Sinclair's turn to snort. "Like I could forget!" he remarked smartly. "It doesn't seem that long ago that you were that new agent."

"Yeah, but it was a while ago, and I came in with. . .other skills."

"Didn't make you any less of a handful," David answered as he clasped his friend's knee fondly. He could feel the tension in his injured partner. Part of that was holding in the pain, but David knew that most of that tension was worry for what might happen to the senior agent while Colby was off recuperating and not able to watch his back. David clasped the leg more firmly – it was the only thing he could reach. . .Granger's bloody arm was making a mess of Sinclair's good suit – and he added, "I'll be careful."

"You better be." They sat quietly, momentarily, letting the import of the conversation sink in, as the E.M.T.s approached.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Don Eppes asked David Sinclair. "I mean, our insurance covers a home health aide, if he needs one. . ."

"No, no. He can still have that, but it's, you know, it's not the same," David explained.

Don knew what his colleague meant. It wasn't the same as having family – or your best friend – be there for you. In the end Dr. Josephs had been forced to postpone the surgery by two weeks. Colby had grown nothing if not downright churlish during this time, between the delay and the enforced two weeks desk duty. He'd understood the need to be benched, but he'd in no way embraced it.

The delay had also messed up the plans for the first two weeks of Granger's time out of the hospital. The original timeline had called for nearly a week in the hospital followed by two solid weeks recuperating, and being waited on dutifully, at Charlie's house. The Craftsman beauty had become a second home to Colby Granger, the front door to the Eppes Family home always a wide-open welcome to the young agent when he'd been sick or injured, or frankly, any other time. He always seemed to get the right mix of care, camaraderie. . .love, when he stayed with Charlie and Alan Eppes. Unfortunately, both men would have reason to be unavailable now: Charlie due to a keynote speech he would be giving at Oxford University in England, and Alan because of a previously planned and already paid for Alaskan cruise with some of his golfing buddies. Alan had insisted that he wanted to stay, but Colby had gotten more than upset in his already surly state; everyone agreed that it wasn't worth upsetting him more by forcing the issue.

"Yeah, I get it," Don said. David knew that his boss truly did 'get' it. That didn't stop Don from joking about it. "You'll do anything to get out of recruit duty," Eppes added with a mischievous smile.

"Doody is right," David said under his breath, his head bowed though his eyes looked up mischievously at his friend. He'd said it purposefully loud enough for Don to hear.

"What's that?" Don asked jokingly.

"Oh. Nothing." They looked at one another in friendship. Sinclair marveled at how good Don was at it, at how he managed to be that figure of authority yet still be friends with his people. He was a special person, and David knew that he spoke for Granger and Betancourt, and likely Liz Warner, when he noted how lucky they all were to work with such a man. David still struggled every day with the balance needed with his promotion. He knew that he'd had more than one uncomfortable moment acting as Colby's supervisor and being his best friend.

"Have the vacation request on my desk today so that I can make sure I get Liz and Nikki permanently. We'll just have to work short those two weeks. But you're getting the new guy, one way or the other. You're just postponing the inevitable."

"So, it's a guy?" David asked.

"Actually, I don't know. They might rearrange things with this delay. He is still scheduled to go in on Monday, right?"

"Yeah. He went in for all of the pre-op testing yesterday. And they'll do a final chest x-ray when he gets there Monday."

"So your vacation will start the day he's released?"

"Which is still supposed to be next Saturday," David said. "We've got to go in Sunday night actually because the surgeon has to start at four a.m. Monday morning."

"Colby mentioned that, in between the growls," Don kidded. They'd all been giving Granger a wide berth these last few days.

Sinclair smiled sadly. "It's been a rough time for him."

"I know. And it's not gonna be all that much easier for a while yet."

"Yeah. Everyone's still cool with the schedule?"

"Oh, yeah. My dad'll be there when he gets out of surgery, and he'll stay until Liz and Nikki get there. But they don't expect him to be awake until more like seven that night, right?"

"Uh-huh. I just want to make sure, just in case he wakes sooner that someone is there. You know how his family is."

Don Eppes did know. Colby's family always managed to be unavailable for the serious stuff. His dad had died when Colby was a teenager, and none of the team had ever met any of his siblings; he rarely spoke of them. His mother was still around, though, still lived in Idaho, but somehow it seemed the distance from Idaho to Los Angeles was an impossible journey for her. Granger had indicated that she had remained unsure of her son ever since the Chinese spy case. He had resigned himself to the fact that she remained distant. Eppes had wondered aloud at one point whether her actions reflected some animosity against Granger on the part of Colby's stepdad, but the young F.B.I. agent refused to confirm or deny that supposition.

"Yeah, I do. Which is why we'll all be there for him." Save for Charlie and Amita, who, with the delay, would already be in London. They would be returning at about the time Colby would be starting outpatient physical therapy; they had both volunteered enthusiastically for chauffeur duty once they found out the change in the surgical schedule.

"We're gonna have to make sure he listens to his doctors after the surgery. You know he's going to want to come back sooner than he should."

"Tell me about it." They stopped their conversation as Granger walked up to them.

"Every open case that David and I needed to finish up," Colby said as he set the high stack of folders on Don's desk. "All I's and T's dotted and crossed."

Eppes' eyes grew wide. "You couldn't have gotten these to me a couple at a time?"

Colby gave his boss a relatively mild evil eye. "If it had been under my control?" he questioned. After a perfectly timed pause he added, "Probably not." He shrugged. "These were all with the evidence team, though, verifying that everything was where it should be. They're the ones who brought them all back at once."

"Oh. Sorry," Don said, regretting the accusation.

"No, it's not a big deal. Oh, and I've got another stack at my desk," he added as he walked away, rubbing his shoulder. They had all been wondering whether even desk duty might have been a bad idea, that Granger would still find a way to overdo it. In the end, Don had decided to leave him be, figuring that the enforced bed rest after the lung surgery would help catch up the healing on the bullet wound, too. Granger dropped the other pile silently, walked away and sat at his desk, pulling a current file up and settling in to do some research on the computer. David watched Don watch Colby.

"It's not good," Sinclair said.

"Maybe not, but he's been awful productive," Don noted as he paged through the report on the top of the first large stack.

"That's because he feels guilty about being out for so long." They both looked toward the young agent.

"I know. Don't worry," Don added. "He'll be fine."

"Sure he will. But will I?"

* * *

"How's he doing?" David asked as he approached the I.C.U. The entire crew was there, as it turned out: Don, Alan, Nikki and Liz, even Larry Fleinhardt.

"Better. Dr. Josephs said there was a slight bleed, that's why they took him back in," Don explained. David looked at his boss sadly.

"I guess we shouldn't have been surprised that he'd have trouble. Seems like he's been on one long bad luck trip since that damned freighter," David fumed, his emotions getting the better of him.

"David, the doctor said that this was minor, and that he didn't suffer any," Alan soothed in a fatherly manner. "He said he expects a normal recovery."

"Can I go in?" Sinclair asked, his brow furrowed as he looked through the glass at his best friend.

"Five minutes only," Nikki said. "And then they're kicking us out."

"He needs rest," Liz explained.

"Has he been awake?" David asked as he made his way through the crowd and to the door.

"He wrote 'Hey, _Spaceman'_. . .well, he tried to, but he fell asleep. It turned out more like Spacemmmm," Larry said warmly.

David smiled and then walked into the room. Liz grabbed his arm and said with an encouraging smile, "We'll see you in the waiting room."

Sinclair walked up to Granger's bed. The ventilator was in place. He'd been with Colby when the operation and the recovery had been explained by the surgeon.  
He remembered the sigh from his partner; there was little Colby hated more than the feel of oxygen being forced into his body. It was unnatural, disconcerting, and often a painful experience when it was time for the tube to come out. That a patient generally only experienced that feeling for a short period of time. . .usually if you were aware enough of the tube you were aware enough to have it removed. . .it didn't stop Granger from hating it.

The other thing David noted was how still the man was. He had just been through a delicate and complicated procedure, and certainly remaining still was the name of the game at present. It didn't mean that Sinclair had to like seeing his friend like this. And he didn't, and he knew that one of the reasons he didn't lay in how he treated Colby after the incident on the freighter. That was another time when he'd found his partner disconcertingly still. Sure, David had saved the man's life, it was the only thing his mind, his hands. . .his heart could do. But the dismissive way that he had been once the doctors had Granger stabilized in the hospital? There was no greater regret than having acted that way when Colby was still so debilitated from the drugs that Lancer had forced into him. It didn't make David feel any better as he remembered the days after, the days turning to weeks before he'd begun to right that wrong.

He shook himself from those thoughts to concentrate on the present.

"Hey, partner," he said softly. "Looks like they've got things under control here." David looked at his friend's face, seeing no pain. A slight sheen of sweat worried him; he'd have to ask a nurse about that when he left. He followed the tubes lacing their way from Colby's body to different mechanisms for monitoring and sustenance. David shook his head.

"You're a brave man, Colby Granger. No matter the danger, no matter the harm that you might suffer," Sinclair said, both physical and mental he thought to himself, though he knew that if Granger had been awake he would innately understand that he meant both. He put his arm on Colby's shoulder and squeezed it firmly, affectionately. "I need you back, man." He leaned in closer, not sure whether the patient would know he was even there. "Get better, buddy," he added. He rubbed the shoulder once more and then stood up straight. . .to find a nurse standing on the opposite side of the bed, away from the bed, just enough.

"I'm sorry. Visiting hours for Mr. Granger are over until tomorrow at eleven," she said compassionately.

"I know," David said as he pulled himself together. "He seems a little warm. Does he have a fever?"

The nurse looked up to the bank of machines. "His temperature is a little elevated, but that's typically seen at this point after surgery. We'll keep an eye on it, but it should head back toward normal soon."

David nodded. "Take care of him."

"We will. Dr. Josephs made it clear that Mr. Granger is one of his favorites."

"Mine, too," David said with an embarrassed smile.

"Don't worry. We'll make sure he's watched like a hawk. We would anyway, it's our job, but when Dr. Josephs takes a shine to someone the way he has with this one, we figure he must be something special."

Sinclair smiled again, this time bigger, and with just a hint of the sparkle that shone from him when he and his best friend spent quality time together, be it at work or outside of it.

"Just wait 'til he wakes up," he said as he left the room.

* * *

"Granger," Sinclair said as he shook his head. "One of the nurses said you were awake for a while earlier. You're supposed to be resting, getting better, not flirting with the pretty girls."

"The ladies tell me that he was barely cognizant of his surroundings," Dr. Josephs said. David hadn't noticed that the cardiologist – and Colby's primary care physician – had entered the room.

"Jenny said his fever spiked overnight," Sinclair commented, hoping to get a more definitive explanation from the doctor. The nurse had assured the senior F.B.I. agent that his friend was better; he guessed it was a matter of needing to hear it from a higher authority.

"Yeah," the doctor said as he got up close with his patient. "Wiped him out," he said as he saw the temperature reading of just over one hundred and one. Seeing it didn't stop the friendly and clearly tactile physician from placing his hand on Colby's forehead.

"Is that why he's still in I.C.U.?"

"Yup. Once it's down to something reasonably close to normal, and once he's off the ventilator, we'll shoot him outta here to a regular room. Ooh, that was a tactless bit of phrasing there, wasn't it?"

"Nah. It's important to keep a sense of humor in our line of work."

"I'll bet. He's going to be in and out now as his body recuperates from the fever and the surgery. We can't keep him on the pain meds, at this level, for more than today. And I'd like for him to wake up enough to at least get that vent out. We took some films a while ago and everything looks good in the cavity." The doctor looked to David. "How long can you stay?"

"About another twenty minutes. I'll be back later, though."

"No time like the present. Start talking to him. See if you can get him to respond to you. He'll relax more while we get the tube out if you're here," Dr. Josephs said. The physician was fully aware of the trajectory of the friendship between these two. He knew they'd been through hell, and he knew the positive results of that awful trip back. The door opened and Dr. Maxwell, Colby's surgeon, entered.

"Hi Marty, Agent Sinclair. How's he doing?" Stephen Maxwell asked as he stepped up to his patient and immediately started to remove the blanket and top sheet and lift the flimsy gown to get a look at the incision.

"Better. His temperature has been heading down, slow but steady. Everything looks good," Dr. Josephs replied.

"Looking at removing the vent soon?" the surgeon asked.

"Yep. Speaking of which, I'm going to leave David to work on waking up our boy. Buy you a cup of coffee?"

"Sounds good. Agent Sinclair, good to see you," Dr. Maxwell said. "Don't worry, everything looks good." David nodded his thanks as his throat had grown suddenly tight. He watched the two doctors leave and then turned to his friend.

"All right, Granger. Did you hear that? They say you're doing good. Time to wake up." Sinclair recognized the beginnings of awareness as his friend's eyes moved beneath his lids, no longer in R.E.M. sleep. "Atta boy, Colby," David said as he took the seat near the head of the bed. David placed his hand on his partner's forehead, sensing the lower temperature. He kept it there as he continued, "They want to remove that tube, and I'm sure you're down with that. Can you wake up?" Granger's eyes began to blink. He attempted a breath and that took him to near-full awareness. His eyes shot open, his expression displayed close to panic, but he made immediate contact with David Sinclair's eyes and seemed to know, instantaneously, as he looked into the eyes of the man he trusted with his life, that everything was okay, that he should calm down. He felt grateful to have someone in his life that he could trust so completely, especially after the nearly impossible task he'd had of getting Sinclair just to talk to him after the spy affair. "Hey, good morning," David said warmly. "The doc is gonna be happy for this," he added with a smile. He moved his hand from his friend's forehead and pushed up, mussing up already well-tousled hair.

"Nice job, Agent Sinclair," Dr. Josephs said as he returned. The doctor walked up, making sure to insinuate himself into Colby's line of vision. "I won't ask you any questions until we get that thing out. It always seemed mean to me when they showed something like that on a T.V. show," he rambled on. "I mean, seriously, asking an intubated patient to nod yes or no. . .that tube is uncomfortable enough when you stay perfectly still." He noticed Colby's eyes were closed again. "Am I boring you, Agent Granger?" he asked, a little more loudly than he'd been speaking. Colby opened his eyes. "Don't answer, it was rhetorical. Just watch me and follow my instructions and we'll have that out in no time."

And so they did, though not without some pain and some coughing bordering on gagging.

"Okay, Agent Sinclair," Dr. Josephs said as he looked away from his patient. "I'm going to need some time alone with Colby. I'll come out to get you when I'm done."

"Actually, Doctor, I have to go," he said, pointing his thumb toward the door behind him. "Can I have a minute with him?"

"Sure. Just a minute, though." The physician left the room.

"How you feelin'?" David asked. Colby seemed fairly awake for someone who'd just had a serious operation less than thirty hours ago.

"Tir'd," his partner scratched out. "Throat hurts."

"Yeah. I'm sure they'll get you something for that." Colby raised and lowered his eyebrows. "The doctors said that everything went well."

"Good." David could tell that Colby was wasted, a combination of exhaustion and medication making it hard for the healing man to keep his eyes open. David knew that the doctor needed Colby awake for at least a portion of his examination.

"I gotta go to work," Sinclair said. It was the last thing he wanted to say. . .or do.

"Go."

"I'll be back later," Sinclair assured his friend.

"'kay."

"Stay awake for the doc. That's an order."

"Bossy," Granger eked out, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. David snorted a laugh, and then patted his friend's hand. Colby grasped David's in return, both letting go at the same time. Sinclair left the room.

"He's all yours," David said to the cardiologist. They stood just outside Granger's room.

"Did you have a nice chat?" Dr. Josephs asked.

"Well, if you can call one word replies a chat, then, yes."

"That's actually pretty good at this point."

"Okay, then we did have a nice chat." Sinclair smiled. "His throat is sore."

"Really?" the doctor asked with knowing sarcasm.

David laughed. "And he's tired. You better get in there before he falls back asleep."

"I heard you tell him, or rather, _order_ him to stay awake. I think you and I both know what that means."

"I guess we do."

"See you later?" Dr. Joseph's asked as he reached for the door.

"You know it," David replied as he headed down the hallway.

Those three words were music to the cardiologist's ears.

* * *

Years of experience couldn't fold under the weight of drugs and exhaustion: Colby Granger knew he was being observed. Unfortunately, lots of experience in hospitals also told him that the doctor had lowered the pain meds, which was the main reason he was waking from what had been blissful sleep. Nothing felt blissful now.

"Hey, he's awake," Nikki Betancourt said.

"Hey, Granger, how're you feeling?" Liz Warner asked as she stood from her seated position near the window.

"Good," Colby tried to say, but his still-sore throat and little-used-of-late voice had it coming out nearly unintelligible.

"Yeah?" Nikki asked with a frown.

"Not. . ." he started again, but his voice caught, an unexpected cough came next, and then Granger winced and reached his hand up to his chest.

"Don't," Liz said as she grabbed the hand. "Here," she continued, offering him the pillow that Dr. Josephs had suggested he use when a cough came over him. "Easy," she added.

Colby coughed, and groaned in between spasms. When he finished he said, "Oh, man, that hurts."

"Looks like it," Nikki said with a sympathetic flinch.

"Time is it?" Colby asked, putting his hand to his forehead this time, and finding it warm and moist. He looked at his hand and then took a look around the room. "Still in I.C.U.?"

"It's almost seven p.m. and yes, still in I.C.U.," Warner answered, shaking her head. "Do you even know what day it is?" she asked casually as she put a cool, wet cloth to her friend's temple. "Your fever seems to want to hang just above where your doctor wants it. In fact, it rose a little bit this afternoon."

"Great," Colby ground out. "Can I get. . ." he started to ask just as Nikki brought a cup with a straw up to his lips. He took a sip, surprised at how even that simple action pulled down around his chest. He took another sip, because thirst definitely trumped more pain, but Nikki took it away before he could manage any more.

"Just a little at a time," she said, smiling sadly as she turned to put the cup back on the table behind her.

"This is kinda weird," Granger said as he closed his eyes and rested back into the pillow.

"What?" Liz asked.

"You two." Weary, heavy-lidded eyes looked from one pretty woman to the other and then closed once more.

"What?" Nikki asked more accusingly, though keeping a light tone.

"Did I do something wrong?" the ailing man asked, blinking and catching sight of Betancourt's quizzical look.

"Well, yeah. This surgery was supposed to be a cakewalk, but here you are, still wasting time in intensive care," Nikki explained.

"Sorry," Colby mumbled softly.

"You should be," Liz interjected as she took the drying cloth, wet it again, and then took it and wiped Granger's face of the sweat.

"Really weird," Colby muttered.

"Why?" Liz and Nikki asked at the same time. They looked at each other and giggled.

"'m just not used to having co-workers take care of me like this."

"If you weren't laid up I'd punch you so hard, Granger," Nikki said, a hint of anger in her words.

"What?" the tired man asked, confused.

"It's been a long time since we were just co-workers," Liz explained seriously though less emotionally than her female counterpart.

"Yeah, but. . ." Colby started, but his thoughts weren't making it to words that his 'co-workers' would understand. He knew a lot of that was the uncomfortable feeling in his chest; he hesitated to consider it pain. He knew what real pain was, though he didn't think he was being weak when he wished silently for the stronger drugs. And he knew he wasn't hiding any of this successfully from his far too intuitive friends.

"You should admit when you're in pain, Colby," Liz advised.

"I was. . .getting. . .there," Granger ground through gritted teeth. His halting attempt to move to ease the pain quickly stalled as all moving did was make things worse.

"I'll go tell one of the nurses," Nikki said as she quickly exited the room. Liz lowered the rail on the bed and sat next to her sometime-partner.

"Look," she started, taking Colby's right hand, the one unencumbered by I.V.s. She looked Granger square in the eyes as she went on. "You're our friend and you mean a lot to us. We're here because we want to be, because we want to help you get better. We know there's not a lot we can do. . ."

"This seems like an awful lot," Colby interrupted.

"That's nice of you to say, but we know it's more a matter of time than anything else."

"No, this. . .you guys being here, it makes it bearable," he added. The confession was followed by a wince, and then a sigh. "Is it s'posed to hurt so much?" He tried to put his hand to his chest, but Liz intercepted it again and encouraged her friend to hold on tight to the pillow with his left hand while she continued to keep a firm hold of his right.

"Damn it," Nikki fumed as she re-entered the room. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked suggestively as she watched Liz up close and personal with their hurting friend. Granger's face turned redder, as though that was possible as he struggled to get the pain under control. Nikki continued. "The nurse has no orders for additional pain meds until bedtime. She also was painfully direct in recommending it was time for us to leave," Betancourt added with irritation as she caught Liz's eyes. Warner shook her head; no way were they leaving yet. "Are you okay for now or do I have to go out there and make a fuss?" Nikki asked, pointing indignantly to the door.

Colby smiled. "As much as I'd like to be witness to that. . .no, I'm okay. Talk. . .to. . .me," he continued as he closed his eyes once more. He nestled deep into the pillow, took a deep, shuddering breath and felt Liz rubbing his forearm lightly, and hovered near sleep as the two women discussed recent cases, Charlie's help in pulling another one out of his hat, how they missed Granger at the office. How David missed him more. The purposefully softer-than-normal ramblings effectively put him into a light doze, no additional pain meds required. And when the nurse opened the door to shoo the visiting agents out, and witnessed their success in easing her patient's discomfort, she quietly shut the door and allowed them to stay.

* * *

"Got one all to yourself?" David asked as he and Don walked into the semi-private room.

"For now," Colby replied softly, coughing lightly, the ever-present pillow held up close.

"How're you feeling?" Don asked as he set the small bouquet of balloons on the table near the wall. "This is from Robin." He handed Granger the card. "She's in Sacramento. She'll come see you when she gets back."

"She doesn't have to," Colby coughed out as he opened the card. He smiled at what Don's girlfriend had written.

"Yeah. I won't tell her you said that," Don noted.

"It's like he's got a death wish or something," David joked. He was happy to see the crooked grin the comment elicited from his healing friend.

Colby changed the subject quickly, though. The subject of his health was fast losing any luster it might have had the longer the agent remained in the hospital.

"What happened in Long Beach?" he asked between more coughs. Don and David both looked worriedly at their friend, forcing him back to the dreaded subject. "Not sure if it's an infection. Chest x-ray," he continued with occasional coughs, "was inconclusive, as they say. I'm on a new antibiotic." He put his head down, then shook it back and forth grudgingly. No matter what, he couldn't manage to avoid the subject, though he was determined to try. "What happened in Long Beach?" It was a clear indication to the not on medical leave F.B.I. agents in the room that Colby Granger was done with the previous topic.

"Too many L.E.O.s, not enough planning, too late in the game. Same thing we've seen before," Don iterated miserably.

"You got the bad guys, and a boatload. . .of cocaine. . .literally," Granger eked out between coughs.

"And lost three men!" Don said angrily back. David frowned at his boss. They'd been advised not to get Granger excited, and shooting back a reply like that seemed the antithesis of that directive.

"Look, we're not here to dissect what happened at those docks. We're here to see how you are," Sinclair said.

Colby breathed in deeply, which brought on more coughing, and said, "Frustrating, man. The fever finally isn't a concern, but now. . .I've got. . .this cough." He rode out the hacking before continuing. "Can't wait for the next. . .shoe to drop." He punctuated the comment with another round.

"Maybe you should just rest, not talk so much," Eppes suggested.

"I am bored outta my mind," Granger lazily admitted, ignoring the suggestion.

"I don't know, brother," Sinclair started. "You look beat."

"Can't imagine how you could get good rest with that cough," Don said reasonably.

"Can't," Granger agreed. And pretty much, as he opened his mouth to say something more, in the middle of a mumbled, mangled sentence, Colby fell asleep. Don nodded his head toward the door. He and David left the hospital room.

"Poor guy. Is this just another expected hurdle?" Don asked, knowing that his relief supervisor was fully updated in what would happen with the surgery and the recovery.

"They said it might happen," David answered.

"What, is the man going to get every complication possible here?" Eppes asked angrily. Sinclair knew that his boss was still fuming over the botched events in Long Beach, though he also was feeling the same anger that he was that his best friend was struggling through one complication after another. It was obviously impacting his ability to heal, and it was likely to extend Colby's stay in the hospital.

"Seems like it." Don looked at David and then shook his head, ran his hand through his hair and then looked back toward Colby's hospital room. "How about we go grab some dinner?" David suggested.

"How about I treat?" Dr. Martin Josephs asked as he came up beside the men. "I can see two very frustrated men before me. I think it might help if we had a talk."

"Honestly, Doc, I'm not sure I would have let you leave the hospital tonight without having that talk," Don said.

"I hear what you're saying. Let me go look in on the patient, check in with the nurses' station. I'll meet you in the lobby in about fifteen, twenty minutes."

"Thanks, Dr. Josephs," David said.

"See you shortly."

* * *

Martin Josephs' idea of dinner was right down the alley of two tired, frustrated, worried F.B.I. agents. Fish tacos, enchiladas, rice and beans, served family style with ice-cold beer, al fresco dining on the picnic tables at an open-air café in a very Mexican enclave in central L.A.

"How'd you find this place?" Don asked as he partook ravenously in the to-die-for fish taco. David was making similar inroads with his enchilada as Dr. Josephs worked on a couple of taquitos.

"My patients are from all over Southern California. I like good food, and I'm not afraid to ask anyone where I can find good food."

"This," Don said, holding up his taco, "is good food."

"And it's a nice neighborhood. I know, not really the place you'd expect a Jewish cardiologist to go, but seriously, look around. It's nice here. People mind their business, they say hello, sometimes in English, sometimes not. I like it." The fact that the doctor had spent time all over the world volunteering his time – and hearing languages of all sorts – helped explain his affinity for these surroundings. He started in on a fish taco as he watched the two men look around, enjoy more of the food, and absorb what he'd explained to them about Colby's surgery, its inherent risks, some typical risks of all major surgeries, and how no matter how much it seemed like Colby had been batting a thousand on hitting each and every stumbling block he could, he really hadn't. Perception meant a lot in his business, the cardiologist had told them. How vested a patient's family and friends were in said patient's welfare usually predicted whether or not he would have to have this conversation. Dr. Josephs told them that it was one of his favorite conversations to have because it meant all of the right things were in place to get his patient better and out of his care.

"It's a great place. Thanks for bringing us here," David said.

"And thanks for the talk. I guess, you know, it looked. . ." Don tried to say.

"I know. But he's doing great, honestly. His boredom will seem less of an issue once he's started on therapy," the doctor said as he took a long draught of beer.

"And then he'll be miserable," David said, knowing that this was the trajectory in which they were headed.

"You bet. Have fun with that, boys," the doctor said evilly as he eyed what he'd be trying next of the bounty before them.

* * *

Colby woke to find Larry Fleinhardt sitting in a chair that was perched back on just its rear two legs, his feet up on another chair, his head down, fervently reading a paper he held up against his raised knees as he used a felt-tip pen to make strike-throughs and amendments in the body and comments in the margins. The healing F.B.I. man smiled; he felt so fortunate to have such people in his life, friends that cared enough for him to spend time with him, even while he slept, oblivious to their presence. He opened his mouth to issue a greeting, found nothing coming out, cleared his throat, and then tried again.

"Hi, Larry." Fleinhardt flinched, the momentum forcing the chair backwards precariously. Larry flailed to right himself, a cartoon moment in the making. Colby laughed heartily at the sight, a big laugh that taxed his incision. It hurt to laugh like that, but it sure felt good.

"Hey, Colby. How are you?" the one-time astronaut asked, ignoring all that had just gone on. "They said you'd be napping, but I had to proof a paper I'm writing, so I thought I'd hang out." Larry watched as Colby acknowledged his remark with a raised eyebrow. "So, how was pulmonary therapy?"

"Lots of fun." It wasn't, it was uncomfortable and left him drained afterwards, but Granger really didn't want to talk about it.

"Really?"

"No." And that was all that Larry Fleinhardt would be hearing about it from the patient. "Any word from Charlie and Amita?"

"Yes, actually. They're fine, having a good time. Wished I was there." Larry saw Colby raise his eyebrow on that. "Well, not really on that last point. Charles said his speech was a big hit and he's pretty sure they're going to offer him a visiting professorship; he said he's holding out for Cambridge."

Colby snorted a laugh, happy that the coughing seemed to be under control. "He can write his ticket."

"Yes, yes he can," Larry agreed.

"So, are you thinking about your next big adventure?" Granger asked through a yawn. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. And in answer to your query, no, I have not. I'm sort of enjoying doing nothing."

"You're writing a paper. That's not nothing."

"True you are."

"And you're still seeing Megan." Colby said, more question than statement.

"Ah, well, those long miles. . .they are not kind."

"What, you're not together anymore?"

Larry looked toward the window, took a moment to ponder the question, and then answered. "I would say that we are still together, inasmuch as two people can be together, in mind and in spirit. Alas, that is not a complete formula for sustaining a relationship."

Granger nodded, though the nod seemed too slow on the uptake. "I hear ya. How is she?"

"Busy. I told her you were out of I.C.U. She should be calling soon. She was worried about you."

"Well, if you talk to her, let her know that I'm okay. I'm sleeping an awful lot these days," Colby added, punctuating the statement with another yawn. "I could easily miss the call."

"I will. But the next time you're awake, you should call her," Fleinhardt suggested as he started packing up his things.

"I thought you said she was busy."

"She'll take your call, Colby," Larry gently chastised with a crooked grin.

Colby put his head down, but not before the Cal Sci professor caught the embarrassed smile the gentle rebuke brought to the young man's face. Granger pulled his head up, noticing Charlie Eppes' mentor prepping to leave.

"You heading out?" Colby questioned, his eyes blinking tiredly.

"Yes, Colby, and you are going to get some. . ." Larry looked up from over-stuffing his backpack to find that Granger had fallen asleep. "Atta boy," he said as he left the room.

* * *

"Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Eppes." Colby quickly corrected himself. "Alan," he said, after receiving the admonishing glare from the Eppes Family patriarch. Granger didn't know why he continually went back to the more formal expression when Alan had told him more than once over the years how he preferred to be addressed.

"Hey, now that's better, and it's not like it's my first time," Alan Eppes noted as he pulled the chair up closer to the healing man. After what all of his friends would agree was a rocky start to recovery, Colby finally seemed to be turning the corner. He was eating nominally solid food, keeping it down, and had managed not to send a pulmonary therapist crying from his room in nearly twenty-four hours. His doctor had said that continued good performance with his breathing, and then getting him up and walking the halls for longer stretches, a meal or two of solid food, and he'd be ready to be released from the hospital. That would likely be two to three more days, two days later than planned.

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been sleeping. . ."

"Ah! No apologies. You've been healing. It's what you're supposed to do after surgery. I don't need to be entertained. I like watching you get better."

"You do?" Colby asked, his face flushing slightly. It never ceased to amaze the young man who'd lost his real father as a teen that he'd gotten so lucky to find someone else he could look to in that way.

"I do."

"Thanks."

"Unfortunately, I have to get on a plane for Alaska later today. I'm sorry the timing didn't work out."

"Yeah. Me, too. I'll be okay."

"I know you will, son. I'm going to leave you with this one thought: think about how you would have been forced to relax and take it easy at my home. You know what I mean, right?" Alan challenged.

"Yes, sir, I do," Colby said, smiling at how Charlie or Don would admonish their father for referring to the Pasadena house as 'my home'. In reality, it had become home for all of them, the entire extended Eppes family: David, Larry, Liz and Nikki. Even Megan back East.

"Good. Now, I'm going to worry about you."

"Alan. . ."

"No, no. It's what I do. I am Jewish, after all," the senior Eppes explained reasonably.

Colby grinned. "But David. . ."

"David is a good boy, but I know how you two boys can be together. Ah, ah! No, 'But, Alan', Colby. I've had this talk with David already, and I have explained the ramifications to Don should I come back from my vacation and not see proper progress. Even Charlie's not off the hook on this one. He'll be back within the week and I sent him an email about how things should be."

"Alan. . ."

"Just say, 'Yes, Alan', and nobody has to get hurt."

"Yes, Alan."

Colby Granger was beside himself with relief. . .and irritation. The relief came as a result of his new status as officially released from the hospital: the day had finally arrived. He'd worked hard these last couple of days, and this morning, to do his therapy, both pulmonary and physical, to eat his meals, to get his rest. He still felt tired all of the time but that, he knew, was all part of the recovery process. Moving too suddenly wasn't much fun but again, all part of the process. The other part – the irritating part – was not remotely what the doctor ordered. His ride was now officially one hour late. Colby chose to wear the mantle of irritation because his other option – worry that something had happened to his partner – was somewhere his head and his heart did not want to go. The hospital room door whooshed open quickly to reveal what appeared to be a very harried-though-familiar F.B.I. special agent.

"Finally," Colby exclaimed as he rose carefully from his seated position in the chair by the window. His room faced towards the park; he hadn't even had the luxury to polish his angry act by getting an early glimpse of his very late chauffeur.

"Hold tight. We're not going yet," David ordered, his clipped, professional tone telling Granger that something was awry.

"What's wrong?"

"Chen's out," Sinclair explained.

"Chen? Eddie Chen?" Colby asked, his brow furrowing. "How?"

"An ambush as they were heading to court. They took out Chen's lawyer. . ."

"Ambinder? He's dead?"

"Yeah. His pals shot a cop, too. He may not make it. From what I hear, Chen put on a pretty impressive martial arts show to get away."

"Great."

"Don and Robin think they're coming after us," David told his friend.

"Makes sense. What's the plan?" Colby asked as he leaned against the hospital bed.

"Don's got a team surveilling the hospital and the immediate area. He wants us to head to a safe house."

"No."

"Colby. . ."

"No. I wanna go home. Or to your place." It sounded like a whining, petulant child. David knew that it wasn't that at all.

"We can't. They're sure to have people at both of them," David noted. "Realistically, their best shot is to try around here, there's lots of highway leading away from here, it'll be easier to get away. It's pretty high profile, a hospital and all. . ."

"Yeah."

"So you understand why. . ."

Colby sighed. "David, I'm just getting out of the hospital. I'm tired, I'm sore. I want to go home, or some place like home. These safe houses. . ." Granger shook his head and then lowered his chin to his chest. "I just. . ." He cocked his head and raised pleading eyes to his friend. "Please, can we find someplace. . ." He was interrupted by the door swinging open once more.

"Colby? Agent Sinclair? Why are there a couple of agents guarding this door, asking for my ID?" Dr. Martin Josephs asked. "Colby, sit," he ordered as he took Granger's arm and led him to a chair.

"We've got a situation, Dr. Josephs," David started in explanation. "A fugitive who would like nothing more than to make sure that Colby and I aren't around for his trial is likely waiting for us somewhere outside this hospital."

"Really? Right now?"

"Doc," Colby started, but was unable to finish before the doctor interrupted.

"Do you have a plan?" he asked Colby, but seeing that the healing man was obviously not in on any plan, the cardiologist turned to David.

"Don's working on it," David responded.

"You know that there's an old, hidden entry to the building, right?" Dr. Josephs asked. "Would that help?"

Don Eppes entered the room. "What's going on?" he asked.

"The doctor knows what's going on," David said.

"The doctor _vaguely_ knows what's going on," Josephs admitted.

"He said there's an exit that's probably a good bet for us to get Colby out of here without being seen," Sinclair advised his boss.

"To get 'us' out," Granger corrected. "Did you bring my gun?" Colby asked his partner.

"I don't think. . ." the physician started, but was stopped as he saw Don give Colby a handgun.

"I was at the office and when I found out about Chen, it made sense," Eppes attempted to justify.

"A still far-from-healed man brandishing a gun made sense to you?" Dr. Josephs asked.

"Doc. . ." Colby soothed. "It's okay. Thanks, Don." It was his back-up weapon, the one he kept handy at the office, just in case. It would do. Don handed him an extra clip. Granger stowed it in his pants pocket, checked the safety on the weapon, checked that the clip in the gun was fully loaded, and then slid the gun expertly in his waistband at his back. The action, done as though he was back in action, caused a spike of pain in his chest. His attempt to cover the ache failed to impress anyone.

"Just take it easy, Colby," Don ordered. "This is just a precaution. We've got agents everywhere. We'll get you and David to the safe house."

"Yeah, about that. . ."

"No!" Don said forcefully. "You're going."

"Don. . ."

"I don't know why this has to result in an argument. It's about your life."

"You don't need to tell me what it's about," Colby exploded. "I know all about risking my life. I don't need a lecture. I understand what it means to almost. . ." He paused, taking a needed breath, taking a needed moment. "But Don, this is not. . .I wanted to get out of this. . .this. . ." Colby paused again and looked to his doctor. "No offense, Doc, but hospitals really aren't much better than being in prison, and this, this just feels like going from one prison to another."

"Well, Colby, I admit that I am a little offended," Dr. Josephs replied.

"I'm sorry," the healing agent said, sounding truly apologetic.

"You don't need to be. I don't like that you feel this way any more than you do. But you and David, you've come to mean a lot to me." It was the first time the physician had called Sinclair by his given name. "So how about you suck it up and go to this safe house?"

Colby's two friends – his colleagues – and his doctor, a man he'd grown to care about and trust implicitly, all looked to the young man for his answer. He felt trapped and with no way out of a decision that he knew he would hate. He hoped he wouldn't regret it. He'd just broken out of a funk, the boorish behavior he'd adopted with the hospital staff of late had finally started to grate on his _**own**_ psyche. He wasn't _that_ person, he was glad that he'd finally broken free of that miserable mental state, but just this second he could see himself easily reverting to that behavior once more. It was a paper-thin wall between those two Colbys, and he knew this precipice could easily be crossed; it wouldn't take but the draft from a floating feather to make it happen. But it didn't matter, he had no option. He sighed, looked up from his seated position, and nodded his agreement.

"Good boy," the cardiologist said. He turned to Don Eppes and said, "I'm going with you."

"No you're not," Colby, David and Don all said together.

"It's a right men's chorus," the physician said with his best English accent. "How nice. I'm going with."

"No, you're not," Colby insisted as he stood. He somewhat towered over the shorter man, but the doctor showed his willfulness in the face of the currently less-than-imposing agent. That he struggled to remove himself from the chair forced Granger to the unaccustomed disadvantage.

"Colby, do you think I would suggest this if I wasn't concerned for you? I have other patients, other responsibilities. But this, what's going to happen here, this is _**not**_ what I prescribed for you. You were to go home first of all, a place you were comfortable with, that would put you at ease. . .that would help you rest. Your current agitated state. . .don't try to tell me that you're not. . . at a safe house was not part of the recovery plan. And you were to have a nice, leisurely drive home. Tell him, David."

David Sinclair kind of wished that the good doctor was still calling him Agent Sinclair. Their relationship had taken a sudden turn now with the more familiar moniker. It wasn't an unwelcome turn of events, except that he now felt compelled to answer the man, despite the fact that his testimony would bolster the doctor's case to join them.

"Um, we were going to head to the beach for a nice lunch," he said, keeping his head down but finally looking up, guiltily, to his boss. Don rolled his eyes.

"You see? Relaxing, familiar. No stress." Dr. Josephs looked Eppes in the eyes, sternly. Don found saying no to this man was as complicated as saying no to his father.

"Okay, so what are you saying. . ." Don paused as he looked from the doctor and then back to Colby. He realized at that moment that the doctor was not being melodramatic. The man was clearly not an adrenaline junkie, he wasn't looking for anything, anything more than the welfare of his patient; said patient's welfare meant an awful lot to Don, too.

"Okay, you can come," Eppes decided.

"Don?" Colby questioned loudly, worriedly.

"It's happening, Colby." Don spoke into his radio. "Get ready." He turned to the doctor. "Where is this exit?" Josephs explained its location between the two buildings, the ramp where they brought the dead bodies before the new morgue was built a few years ago. The ramp these days was used mostly to store cardboard for the daily recycling pick-up. . .good cover, so long as the recyclers hadn't been there yet. Don Eppes liked what he heard and called in one of the agents guarding Colby's door. He pulled Josephs in for a conference, and then the agent, Logan, and the cardiologist walked out the door quickly.

"We'll give Logan a minute or two to get in position. He's changing into scrubs and he'll get my truck and bring it around to the door your doctor suggested," Don said, looking at a definitely sullen Colby Granger. Colby didn't answer. He glared at his boss, who walked to the window to make a quick phone call. Colby then stared at the door where his doctor had just exited, and exhibited far-too-tense muscles when David put his hand on his friend's back.

"It'll be fine," David urged softly to his partner.

Granger remained stonily silent and avoided eye contact with Josephs when he re-entered the room. Don finished his call, and then two more minutes went by with all four men standing silently, the phone call having delayed them a few more minutes. Don finally said, "Let's go. Dr. Josephs, lead the way but stay by my side. David, you and Garland, stick with Colby."

They left the hospital room, David swinging Colby's overnight bag over his broad shoulder. They were joined after the first turn and at the end of that hallway by four more law enforcement personnel: two Los Angeles police officers, and Liz and Nikki. The police stayed at the end of the hall, monitoring the way from which they'd just come. Liz and Nikki joined the others on the trek to the old morgue. They passed other LEOs on their way; Don had gone all out to protect his two men.

Eppes had the staircase cleared, so that was how they chose to head to the morgue; the elevator left too many variables, and loss of line of sight, even for just a few minutes, was a concern. The pace was slow and steady in deference to Granger's condition; it was just one more thing that would compound Colby's progressively forlorn, disgruntled state. Agent Garland remained at the staircase while the rest kept moving.

They reached the morgue and continued to follow Josephs through the facility. It was clearly used only for storage now: dated medical equipment dotted the large room where autopsies were once the main attraction. The walls of refrigerated beds where bodies used to wait their turn were no longer being used in that way: the room didn't hold the climate of artificial cooling, just the normal chill of an underground level. They finally made it to the door.

"Oh, crap. The alarm is going to go off when we open this door," Dr. Josephs said. "I forgot about that."

"That's not a problem. We're heading for the black Suburban, which won't be far away. Any alarms that go off will hopefully just confuse Chen and his people," Don replied.

The door opened, the alarm went off, and the group ran for the black F.B.I. vehicle. Instinct had Colby Granger running as well, which was a mistake. He quickly faltered. "David!" Dr. Josephs called. Sinclair turned around to see the smaller man holding Granger up, though Colby continued to move forward. His step was halting, and he was clearly pulling in on himself in an attempt to ease the pain emanating from his chest. The incision was by no means completely healed; it had been well on the way, but this could prove to be an unfortunate setback.

And then everyone heard the rat-a-tat of a semi-automatic weapon, followed by the noise of the high-velocity bullets as they cracked into the concrete block of the building.

"Son of a bitch," Don Eppes said. "Come on, let's go!" he yelled before he realized that they had a problem. Damn it," he said, and then into his radio he pleaded, "Ian?" He got no answer as he ran back to help with Colby. "We have to move," he insisted. David gave him an understanding look, but moved only nominally faster than he already was. More gunfire, with chunks from the hospital's walls flying off of the building's facade, forced everyone to hustle, even Colby, who was now at least half being kept on his feet by his partner. So much for using his weapon. Don, Liz and Nikki had taken up position, looking for the shooter – or shooters – but were unable to find what they sought, and were forced to hold their fire – and any hoped for progress toward Don's truck. Eppes called into his radio once more. "Ian, do you see anything?" Long silence followed. "Everyone stay put for now," Don ordered. They were all safe so long as they didn't make an attempt for the truck; it was obvious from the shots fired so far that the shooters were only getting the general direction right. They had yet to figure out the exact location of their targets. And then, just that quickly, bullets stopped screeching in their direction.

"Eppes, it's done," Don heard in his earpiece.

"We can stand down?"

"Get in the truck and go. We'll follow up later," Don heard from the F.B.I. tracker.

"Okay everyone, we're heading to the safe house. Edgerton's cleared it," Don added as he headed back to see about Colby. "Is he okay?"

"I'm fine. Let's go," Granger ground out as he walked stiffly to the vehicle.

"Doc?" Eppes asked.

"I'll check him when we get there," he said as he got into the back seat of the Suburban next to his patient.

"Nikki, go check in with Ian. See what's up," Don ordered. "Liz, you're with us." He walked up to the truck. "Logan, good job. Head back with Nikki."

"I'll be by later," Nikki said, "for our shift," she added, looking to Warner. The uncertainty of where they stood with Eddie Chen and his men meant that they all had to continue with the plan.

"Okay. See you later." Liz replied.

Eppes got into the driver's seat, Warner joined him up front, as Sinclair went to the far side of the vehicle and entered the back, forcing Granger into the center of the back seat. "You okay?" he asked as he shut the door.

"I said I was fine," Colby answered.

They sat in the car as Don pulled up the safe house on his GPS system. It was a new house and he wanted to make sure they got there by the most direct route. He got on his mobile phone, the one-sided conversation far too cryptic to tell what was happening. Colby leaned his head back into the headrest as David gave the cardiologist a furtive glance. Josephs raised his hand and shook his head, deciding for them both that leaving the man sitting between them alone just then was by far the better course of action.

Eppes hung up the phone. "We're not being followed?"

"No. We're clear," Liz answered.

"Good."

"What happened back there?" Colby asked.

"Ian Edgerton was in position. I called him as soon as we heard about Chen escaping. He got two of the shooters, neither one was Chen."

"Did anyone see where Chen went?" David asked.

"No."

"So, we're still going through with taking Colby and David to the safe house?" Dr. Josephs asked.

"Yeah," Don replied. "Why?"

"Well, I don't have everything I need to check Colby over. We were in kind of a hurry to get going."

"I'm fine. What is wrong with all of you that you can't understand that?"

"Colby, you were not looking fine back there," Don said calmly.

"I. . .I just. . ."

"Colby, your chest is burning, right? And I can hear you trying to calm your breathing, it's obvious to someone like me who has had a lot of patients try to get their release before they were ready. You feel like you could fall asleep any second, too, am I right?"

Granger put the fleshy part of his palms up to his eyes and rubbed them roughly. He ran both hands through his hair, shook his head a couple of times and then asked, "So?"

"Come on, buddy. Just relax. We're not far from the safe house, right Don?" David asked.

"Just a couple of miles away."

"Okay. So, remember what our day was going to be today, bud? Lunch, some fresh air at the beach, some pretty women in bikinis, and then back to your place for rest. This plan lacks some in the pretty women department, and we'll be getting take-out, but the remainder of the plan remains the same. You're supposed to be resting, staying calm, taking it easy. This was a little too much excitement even for me, and I'm not recuperating from major surgery."

"You know what? I'm tired of this. Just do whatever you're gonna do. I don't have any say anyway." Granger slouched down in his seat.

"Colby, the pouting really doesn't become you," Dr. Josephs noted. All that he got back from the still-recuperating agent was a shake of the head and a sigh.

* * *

By the time they made it to the safe house, Colby Granger had taken to brooding silently. He had taken a seat, not participating in the discussions going on. They had been there a little over a half an hour when Colby surprised everyone by saying, "I'm going to go lay down. Does one of you want to check the bedroom?" Everyone turned to the speaker. Granger looked terrible. Liz eyed him with sympathy. She grasped his arm affectionately as she passed him to check the bedroom. They all knew that the house was safe, but it was also protocol to check; one of them should have done it before Colby'd had to ask. That he asked at all proved to them that all was not well in Grangerland. Liz came back to find Colby standing, barely, facing the bedroom. What everyone behind Granger couldn't see was that the man's eyes were shut: Colby was dead on his feet.

'But he wasn't dead', Liz thought gratefully.

"Come on," she said as she this time grasped the arm more firmly and led him to the bed. "Sit," she ordered, and Colby readily complied. He sat, unmoving, not laying down. Liz parked next to him, their arms touching.

"What's the matter?" the pretty agent asked. "Are you all right?"

Colby sighed. "I am so not all right," he answered as he leaned tiredly into her. "Sorry," he said, straightening up. "I'm so tired. I'm so sick of. . .this."

Liz put her arm around her friend and encouraged him to lean. "Look, you know, you have to be patient, no pun intended she added, smiling, as she rubbed his back. "You're most important job is to get better, but you can only do one step at a time. I know you want to run, but first you have to crawl."

Colby groaned. "This sucks."

"I know. But you have to take it easy at first. You have to wrap your head around that or you're gonna hurt more than help your recovery."

"I know."

"You know? So running today?" she asked.

Colby put his hand to his chest. "I admit, with all the excitement. . .I forgot." He continued rubbing his chest.

"Stop doing that," Dr. Josephs said as he entered the room. Colby stopped rubbing. "Not that. You're not suffering from amnesia," the cardiologist noted wryly. "No more running for a while." Josephs frowned as he observed his young friend. "How's my patient?" he asked warmly.

"No doing so great," Liz answered.

"How about I check you out so you can get some rest?" the physician asked. Liz gently pushed Colby into a more upright position and stood up.

"Nikki and I have first shift," she said to her colleague. "Get some rest."

"Thanks, Liz."

"No thanks needed. I didn't do anything."

"You did." Liz smiled at her friend and then left the room.

"Lay down," the doctor said.

Colby did, but said, "I thought you didn't have all your stuff."

"I don't," Josephs said. "Are you comfortable?" he asked.

Granger frowned but went about determining the answer. He attempted to remove one of the pillows behind his head, gasped when he pulled something in his chest, and said, "I could do with one less pillow."

"Lean forward." Colby did as instructed and the doctor removed a pillow with one hand while he used his other to hold Granger up. He could feel the effort his patient was making to hold himself up. "Relax, I've got you." The ailing F.B.I. man relaxed. . .just a little. "Why don't you get it into that thick skull of yours that it's okay to ask for help." Colby didn't answer. "You've got a lot of people who want to help you." Still no reply from the patient. "Mums the word, eh?" Colby looked at his doctor, but when the physician caught Granger's eye, the young man looked away. "You know, it would be better for your overall health if you would talk about it. You're going to be fine, I trust I've made that clear. Anything you say to me is confidential." The doctor wondered if Colby had forgotten that. Up until this point, Granger had given him permission to discuss his health issues with his best friend and his boss. Colby's eyebrow went up at the reminder. He nodded in acceptance and gratitude.

"I feel. . ." Colby started. "What happened today. I was useless."

"Colby. . ."

"No. Hear me out. Don trusted me enough to give me my gun. . ."

"Which I was against."

"He was looking to me, putting his faith in the fact that I was ready, that he could count on me."

"That trust was misplaced, this time. You weren't ready. . ."

Granger ground out, "I should have been."

"No, Colby, you shouldn't have been. You couldn't have been. You are, what, seven days removed from major surgery. . ."

"Eight, Doc. I've counted every single one."

"Well, you haven't done that, young man, because you were barely conscious those first two days. Don't make it out to be more than it was. I bit my tongue earlier, but you comparing what we do in the hospital to your experience in prison was wrong. It was hurtful. And what you said insulted every good person who works there to help ungrateful people like you."

"Doc. . ." Granger said, profound embarrassment and sorrow in his tone. He tried to sit up.

"Colby, just lay back. I'm sorry. This is not the conversation that I wanted to have." The physician went to the foot of the bed and efficiently removed Granger's shoes. Colby watched him, could see how the older man's outburst had hurt and embarrassed him, too.

"I'm sorry," Granger said softly.

"I know you are, son," Dr. Josephs said as he took Colby's wrist and sat on the edge of the bed. He remained quiet as he checked the agent's pulse. He sighed, put Granger's hand down and patted it as it lay on the mattress.

"Too fast?" Colby asked.

"Yep. Stay here. Rest. I'm going to go get your pills from David.

"You're gonna knock me out," Colby suggested.

"You bet I am," the cardiologist said with an evil grin.

Colby laughed lightly. "I don't think you'll need to," Granger admitted quietly.

"Well, you definitely overdid it today, so pain relief is in order. You'll get two, and then one of the muscle relaxers. You can get back on your regular regimen at suppertime."

"Thanks." Colby watched as Josephs stood. "And Doc, I really am sorry. You're right, what I said. . .about prison. . ."

"Colby, don't worry about it. I am far more thick-skinned than I let on moments ago. I know what you meant. I guess today's excitement got to me a little, too."

"So we're okay?"

"Of course we are. With my boys moved away, you've become like a surrogate son to me. Fathers and sons fight, it's natural. But you and me? We're right as rain, kiddo."

* * *

"Hungry?" Liz asked as Colby woke from his drug-induced slumber. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes as he tried to get a better sense of where he was. Right. Safe house.

"Time izzit?"

"It's late, about ten."

"At night?"

"Yeah. Dr. Josephs left once he'd given you a good once-over. He's coming back in the morning with his gear. He said you should eat when you woke up, and then take your pills."

"So I can sleep and not be a bother," Granger offered.

"You aren't a bother." Colby just shrugged. "What do you want to eat?" Liz asked, ignoring the attitude, for just a while.

"I get to choose?"

"Sure."

"Did you all eat?"

"We weren't gonna wait for you," Nikki said as she entered the room. "We might have been eating in the middle of the night."

Colby smiled. "I wouldn't have wanted to put you out."

"No, you wouldn't," Nikki agreed jokingly.

"How about pizza?" Colby asked. "You two can snack on what I don't eat."

"We'll have to order two pies. Don's on his way."

"Does he have news?" Granger asked as he raised himself to a sitting position. He swung his legs to the floor and looked to Nikki for an answer.

"He didn't say," Betancourt replied.

"He might just be coming for the free food," Liz joked.

"And to relieve us, not that it hasn't been fun spending these last hours with you, Granger," Nikki added smartly.

Colby smiled, stood, and headed out of the room. Before either of his colleagues could ask, he supplied, "I have to pee."

"Was I going to ask?" Liz asked. "I don't think I was. How 'bout you, Nik?"

"I'm really not interested in Granger's bodily functions," Nikki retorted sassily. Granger smiled and shook his head as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

"We'll see you in the dining room," Liz called loudly through the door. Granger heard the two agents laughing as they headed to the center of the house.

Don Eppes arrived, with David Sinclair and Ian Edgerton in tow. Liz heaved a not-so-mild sigh of relief that Granger's partner returned before he'd realized that David wasn't there. They didn't need any more reasons to upset their friend. Nikki had been particularly adamant that Sinclair stay in the safe house, emphasizing 'safe' and reminding David and Don that David was supposed to stay put in light of the threat that Chen still on the loose could prove to be. She'd been pretty direct, bordering on brutal about her thoughts. She'd commiserated with Liz for hours after they'd left about how dense men could be. Liz conceded that it was a wrong-headed decision, but more likely one made due to a stubborn streak than one lacking thought. In Liz Warner's mind, one of the biggest hurdles to cross in working with men like Don, David and Colby was learning to deal with the stubborn. She'd soon found out that it wasn't just the men of her team she needed to learn to deal with in that regard. With Nikki on board, she recognized much of herself in her newest teammate, Betancourt the mirror from which she'd finally caught that reflection.

"He still sleeping?" David asked with concern.

"Just got up. He looks lots better. He's in the bathroom," Liz explained.

"Should I open the window so you can announce it to the world?" Colby asked as he strolled into the living room.

"You stay away from those windows," Ian said. "Hiya, grouch," he added as he stepped toward Granger. "Glad you're okay."

"Thanks to you it seems," Colby said, reaching out his hand. Edgerton moved closer, took the offered hand, but pulled Granger into a careful hug, fully aware of the man's still-healing condition. "Why're you here?" Colby asked, less than welcoming.

"You know, you didn't get killed today. I'm not sure why you're so pissy," Ian commented as he stepped back from his colleague.

"Maybe I wouldn't need to be pissy if you'd nailed the target."

"Hey, pal, you're still alive. Technically, the most important job I had today I completed." They stared at each other, the one knowing that he wasn't really in any shape mentally or physically to make his case, the other knowing this, as well, and too glad to have Colby Granger back and in one piece to have a hand in letting this discussion get any further out of hand. Luckily, the one whose life was saved was apparently in no mood to keep at it, either.

"I'm sorry, man. I'm. . .I. . ."

"You're glad to be alive," Ian offered.

"Yeah."

"Then I accept your thanks." Edgerton smiled, as did Granger. "I heard there'd be pizza."

Colby snorted a laugh. "I think you're a little early. Hey David, Don."

"You look like you feel better, bro," David said as he gave his partner a hug.

Granger's eyebrow went up. "Definitely better, but evidently," he said, looking to Nikki and Liz, "I have a curfew, so can we get this pizza ordered?"

"I'm on it," Nikki called out, her cell phone to her ear.

"So, news?" Colby asked, addressing his boss.

"Not yet. Chen's still on the run," Don explained. Eppes' mobile phone rang; he stepped aside to take the call.

"How's the cop?" Granger asked as he sat down at the dining area's table.

"Critical, but he's expected to make it," David told his partner.

"Good. That's good," Colby said with a relieved sigh.

"Granger, you know that officer's injuries are not your fault," Ian said. Colby didn't reply. The F.B.I. sniper sat down opposite the man from Idaho. "Hey, we've been here before, pal."

Well, they had. . .sort of. But they'd resolved things, Granger and Edgerton, after Ian had held Colby at gunpoint in that prison. And it hadn't really been the same. Edgerton hadn't shot Granger. No, definitely not the same. Killing a friend, they knew, would be an event in each man's life that had no parallel. No matter how badly Colby felt about an officer being shot when he himself had been the target, it would not be the same.

"You are not to blame for any of the deaths or injuries since you started tracking Chen. Not even your own. Got that?" Ian asked sternly.

"That's what we've been telling him," David agreed.

Colby knew this, he didn't need Ian or David or any of them to tell him so. He knew that much of how he felt mentally was directly related to how poorly he felt physically. And he really wasn't much in the mood to talk about it in front of his team anyway. Ian, though, was removed from that; he was like the therapist Colby didn't have because he'd had that time in prison with Edgerton. . .and the time after. He wondered why he was able to talk to this man about these things when he couldn't with his teammates, teammates that included a boss he trusted implicitly and a partner who was as near a brother as any blood relative.

"Got it," Colby said, knowing there was more to say, but happy to call the conversation over, for now. "So, what's the game plan for catching Chen?" he asked instead.

"I'll tell ya in a minute," Don said. "Here, talk to my dad, he wants to make sure you're okay."

Colby smiled, took the phone and spoke to the senior Eppes for a few minutes. Granger wished Alan 'bon voyage' before hanging up. He handed the cell phone back to his boss and asked, "So?" Don shook his head at his young agent's doggedness.

"Chen has to have gone under," Don said. "That truck he was in was found abandoned still running. We think he's in the garment district. On foot. We've got more guys checking that area, and we've got all accesses into Chinatown as cordoned off as we can. We're putting as much pressure on the area, and pressure on snitches in the area, as we've got manpower. We're hoping he'll shake out."

"Yeah," Colby sighed as he leaned his head on his fisted hand, his elbow on the table.

"You all right?" David asked with a worried frown.

"Bored," Granger responded.

"No, I don't think so," Ian said. "I think you're too tired to be bored."

"Could be," Colby replied.

"And you're not hungry because you don't feel good," Liz said, taking the seat beside Colby at the table.

"That's probably. . ." Granger started, but Sinclair interrupted.

"But you have to eat a little something so you can take your pills."

"David. . ."

"I'm not pressuring you," David said in his most casual manner.

Liz leaned over and whispered into Colby's ear. Granger's face changed, morphed from the annoyance at the perceived gang smothering to one of a pleasure in a shared secret. He snorted a laugh, bringing incredulous grins to the faces of his friends. Liz whispered some more. Colby nodded, smiled. He looked up, a light in his eyes remembered by all but not truly seen since before his surgery. He ducked his head shyly as Liz Warner offered one more soft comment. He nodded again.

"You know, I'm not generally one for allowing my agents to have secrets," Don said with a wry smile.

"We don't have secrets, Don," Colby countered.

"We're sharing one," Liz explained patiently.

"Makes all the difference," David said, happy to go along if whatever Liz had shared with Colby had such a positive effect on his best friend.

The pizza arrived and was inevitably eaten to crumbs, Don Eppes indeed making the largest dent, followed competitively by Ian Edgerton, who stood up after taking his last bite of pepperoni pizza and final swig of Diet Coke.

"Sorry to eat and run, but I've got things to do," he said.

"It's almost midnight," Colby said through a yawn. He'd managed two slices of the savory pie after all, but the conversation and the food had definitely tired him out.

"Unconventional ways, unconventional hours," Edgerton said as he stepped over to Granger. They shook hands. "See you soon."

"Yeah," Colby said. "Be careful." Ian cocked his head, smiled and then headed out the door with a wave to the crowd he left behind.

"We're heading out, too," Nikki said. "We've got to be back here for nine in the morning."

"Where's your back-up?" Colby asked.

"Um, Don and me, we're back-up," David said.

"Oh? That's new. The protected now becomes the protector," Colby challenged.

"We've got a unit outside, too," Don responded casually.

"Good night," Liz said, grasping Colby's arm affectionately, and leaving Don with any remaining questions from the healing man. She and Nikki quickly made their way out of the house.

Colby looked at Don and David. He shook his head, deciding that it was too late and he was too tired to argue with them. He knew he had a good argument to make, he knew that Don would never have approved this kind of set-up with people he was keeping secure in a safe house that weren't his own people. On any given day, Colby would have agreed that they could secure themselves, but on most days Colby was in far better shape to take part in that security detail.

"I'm heading to bed," Colby announced.

"You've got your pills?" David asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good night," Don called.

"'Night," Colby called back.

"He's not happy," Don said to his senior agent.

"No, but he's better. And he's right."

"Yeah, I know. But Ian's out tracking tonight. Edgerton being out there gives me a little more confidence that this might be over sooner rather than later."

"We're lucky they let us have him for a while," David suggested.

"The director isn't happy with his people almost getting killed. He approved the detail for Ian because he's the best, and right now, we need the best," Don explained.

David stacked the empty pizza boxes into a neat pile and tightened the lids on the soda bottles. He and Don and the ladies had allowed themselves just one beer each, and he placed all of those empties into a corner on the counter. Don went to sit on the sofa and turned on the TV, the sound down low so that their healing friend could sleep. David finished tidying the remains of their meal and then joined Don in the living room. They watched the rest of Letterman and then Don started surfing. They landed on ESPN Classics and watched a baseball game from 1986. A half an hour into the game they heard the explosive crack, and the reverberating sound of a rifle, followed nearly instantaneously by the sound of shattering glass.

"What the hell?" Don said as he jumped up from his seat. David followed swiftly, one heading to the side window, the other going straight to check on Colby, also toward the side and back of the house. The sound came from the rear, both men knowledgeable in the art of echo, reverb and how the sound from high-powered weapons can fool the ear. As both moved from the main living/dining space, the front door crashed in, Eddie Chen taking the place of the downed entry. He quickly pressed the trigger on his semi-automatic, shredding the space, drywall and glass and cloth flying. Don dove and pulled his weapon. David ran for the hallway and did the same. He met Colby coming from the bedroom, his own back-up weapon in hand. None of the three F.B.I. men needed to fire a shot, as it turned out.

Chen's body shuddered with the report of more high-powered weaponry, shot from a distance, but deadly accurate. The two shots hit their targets, one through the back and into the heart, the other taking off a large chunk of the man's skull. Chen fell to the floor, his weapon trapped beneath him. He moved, but there was no doubt that the man was already dead.

Don called on his walkie-talkie: "Give me a report!"

"It's just Chen. It's done." Ian Edgerton's voice. It soothed only a little, the men in the safe house still on guard for more. They heard squad cars and sirens and screeching tires outside. And just moments after, they heard "I'm heading in!" It was Edgerton marching his way up the sidewalk. Only then did Eppes, Sinclair and Granger stand down. Colby leaned wearily against the hallway wall, his partner placing his hand on his shoulder and looking at him closely.

"You all right?" David asked

"Yeah, yeah. I'm okay." Colby pushed himself from the wall and headed to the living space, David following just behind.

"Everybody okay in here?" Ian asked. Other F.B.I. began swarming the place. Don directed one to call for a coroner and he himself called for a team to gather evidence, including the bits of Chen's brain that sprayed a line along the carpet and on the far wall. Eppes started another call, but took the time to point to the man from Idaho.

"Go back and lay down, buddy."

"Why? We're not staying here," Colby countered reasonably. It was true; it would take hours to gather evidence, clear the body. And it was a crime scene that none of them wanted to spend any more time in.

"No, we're not. But that doesn't mean you can't rest some more before we go."

"I don't. . ." Colby started.

"David," Don said as he stepped away to deal with his phone call. David took Colby by the arm and moved him in the direction of the bedroom.

"Come on, we'll just stay out of the way until Don tells us otherwise."

"We can help," Granger insisted.

"No we can't. We're the victims here. There's a team out there doin' the job tonight. Let 'em do their work," Sinclair said. He looked down to see Colby's still tight grip on his weapon. He reached over and took the gun, Colby relinquishing it without argument. "Look, man, you look beat. Go lay down, like Don suggested. With Chen gone I'm pretty sure they'll just let us go home, but it could be a while. No use standing around," David said, leaving unsaid the fact that Colby looked ready to fall down if he didn't take the suggestion.

"I guess not." Colby turned, grabbed the wall, the sudden action and movement and adrenaline crash making him feel lightheaded. He steadied himself and preceded David to the bedroom. Sinclair grabbed the wing chair in the corner and moved it closer to the bed. He took off his jacket, laying it folded on the back of the chair, sat down and put his feet up at the end of the bed. Colby snorted a laugh, layed down on the bed and closed his eyes. Almost three quarters of an hour later, Don Eppes walked in to find both men soundly sleeping. He smiled, his eyes crinkling with affection and relief, and then he went about the task of waking both of his friends and sending them on their way home.

* * *

"Come on, Charlie, I think he's had enough."

"I'm. . .okay. . .Amita."

"See? He's fine."

To say that Charlie Eppes had gotten swept up in Colby Granger's singular persistence to improve minute-by-minute in physical therapy was an understatement. Once he and Amita had returned from their time in England, Charlie had needed to attend to some business for the university, leaving Amita to ferry Colby to and from physical therapy for a while. Granger had insisted that he could do more, go longer, but Amita, with the supervision of Colby's therapist, had insisted on sticking to the schedule that had been designed for his particular needs. Chagrin was what Colby had outwardly shown to Amita, though inside his frustration was hitting the boiling point. He'd been glad to see Charlie start coming with, knowing that he would understand; he'd witnessed his own brother work hard to get back in shape after some pretty bad injuries. He would understand. And he had. Unfortunately for Colby, in Amita's eyes, the therapist leaving them unattended was going to short-lived; their policy of allowing family to participate in patient physical therapy would take a hit if Colby Granger hurt himself at this late stage. She'd begun to feel railroaded by these two strong men, and knew overdoing it would only hurt Colby in the long run.

"Stop. Now." Amita, Charlie and Colby looked toward the door, and the voice that all of them had learned to obey.

"Sorry, Alan," Amita said.

"Don't apologize, Amita. I know this has more to do with Charlie and Colby than it does with you." Alan walked over and gave Amita an affectionate hug as he simultaneously gave his son a warning glare.

"Alan, I'm fine," Colby insisted.

"Yes you are, because you're done for the day."

"Alan. . ." Colby tried again.

"Dad," Charlie interceded, acting as Colby's back-up.

"Ah-ah! I don't want to hear it. Charlie, we'll talk later. Go ahead and take Amita to lunch. I'll take Colby home."

"You okay with that, Colby?" Charlie asked, making it clear by his tone that he didn't appreciate being spoken to by his father in that way in front of Amita and Colby.

"Yeah, it's okay. Thanks, Charlie. Sorry, Amita."

"You're right you're sorry," Alan said. He looked toward his son and the woman Charlie would be lucky to marry one day. "Shoo." Amita pulled Charlie away and out the door.

"I know you're smarter than this, Colby."

"Alan. . ."

"Go get cleaned up and we'll talk in the car."

"Yes, sir," Granger answered as he headed to the showers. He could feel that he'd gone too far, the ache not the comfortable one of a good workout, leaning far too much into pain; he hoped it didn't show in his gait as he strode to grab a quick shower.

"Take your time. We're not in a hurry." Well, that answered that question.

But the fact was, Colby Granger was in a hurry. He'd been out of action, including the recuperation from being shot at the warehouse and two weeks as a desk jockey, for nearly two months. According to the P.T. schedule, he still had nearly three weeks before he'd be back in the saddle, and then he'd only be back riding a desk for a while. No, Alan Eppes was dead wrong about there being a rush to get anywhere.

Fifteen minutes later, Colby and Alan were heading to lunch, the senior Eppes insisting that Granger needed a good meal. Or ten. Nobody would ever have called Colby Granger skinny. . .before. He was solid as a rock, built for all the hard knocks he'd received in his work in the Army, as an F.B.I. agent. . .as a fake Chinese spy. But it seemed that those drugs that Lancer'd given him on the freighter finally did the unthinkable: they made the young man look frail, and that was a wrong Alan Eppes intended to right.

"Where would you like to eat?" Alan asked.

"Anything's fine."

"Colby, son, I'm asking you what you would like." Granger rubbed his forehead. "Did you have breakfast?" Alan persisted with fatherly concern.

"Yes."

"So that's not a headache from not eating?" Colby didn't respond. "So when you said yes to having breakfast you actually meant no?" Alan asked, taking umbrage in the fact that the young agent would lie to him.

"No. I ate."

"Oh. Okay, then." Alan looked at Colby with an assessing eye while stopped at the red light. "Why do I feel like there's a 'but' coming?"

Granger snorted a bitter laugh and shook his head. He sighed and said, "Because you're right. I got. . .sick. . .in the bathroom."

"You threw up your breakfast?"

"Yeah."

"Has this been happening a lot?"

"No."

"Colby, I'm trying to help here. Can you help me by giving me some more complete answers?"

Granger leaned his elbow on the door and rested his chin in his palm, looking out the passenger-side window. He sighed once more and admitted, "I thought I was finished being sick. I thought that was behind me. But I've been sick after each P.T. session the last three days."

"And you can't see that being sick might be a sign that you're overdoing it?"

"I know that's what it's a sign of, Alan," Colby responded angrily. "But I have to work hard to get back in shape."

"Colby, you aren't just some guy heading every day to the gym. You're still a couple of weeks away from that. You are supposed to be working to build your stamina, your lung capacity, your muscles in your chest. You remember your doctor telling you that it would be slow going. You seem to think that you're in training for an Ironman competition." Alan took a glance at the healing man as he continued to drive. Colby continued to look out the window: an avoidance tactic if ever there was one. "Colby," Alan insisted, but Granger continued his fascination with the streets of Los Angeles. Alan pulled the car over.

"Colby!" he demanded. That got the agent's attention. Granger looked at the man who was the father figure long-missing in his life. "That's better," Alan went on. "Now listen, son, you are now mere weeks away from getting what you want. It's a fortunate man who can look death in the face and live to tell the tale. But you have to start listening to your body. . .and Amita. Don't let Charlie be your guide on this. He's my son and I love him, and he's well-meaning, but he will allow himself to get caught up in the moment."

Charlie Granger knew this to be true. In fact, they all counted on it when they enlisted his aid in cases the bureau had a tough time cracking. He'd experienced more than once how 'in the moment' Charlie could be. And if he was honest with himself, he knew he'd been taking advantage of that aspect of the professor's personality. But, with a little push from Charlie's dad, he recognized that this had gone too far. And this wasn't the only thing that he realized had gone too far. His undercover work had been a similar thing. He nearly died. His handler did die. And so did Dwayne. Death and near death. Sure, he'd gotten good information. They'd gotten Lancer. But he knew he'd be pondering for a long time whether the means had been justified.

One thing he's done more than enough thinking on was his return to the team. And he knew Alan was right. . .he needed to start being more in tune with his body and his health. There was no time like the present to practice that new philosophy.

"How does a nice, juicy burger sound to you?" Colby Granger asked his companion, his chauffeur, his some-time father. His friend.

"Sounds artery-hardening, and just what the doctor ordered," Alan replied with a smile as he grasped Colby's shoulder affectionately. He pulled the car back into traffic and headed to the best burger joint in town.

* * *

"Welcome back, brother," David Sinclair said, adding a huge, enveloping bear hug to the heart-felt verbal greeting. "Man, am I glad you're back." It wasn't like he hadn't seen his best friend nearly every day in the last weeks, but having him back at work, by his side. . .he'd never be able to put into words how he felt at this moment.

"Me, too, David," Colby Granger returned shyly.

"Hey, look who it is!" Don said, eyes crinkling with the broad smile, more manly hugs between them.

"The prodigal returns," Nikki said as she stepped between Sinclair and Eppes and offered a more feminine version of the greeting, replete with Betancourt standing on tip-toes to give the returning agent a kiss.

"Thanks, Nikki. I don't know about that prodigal stuff," Colby answered.

"Well, in any case, I'm glad you're back," Nikki added.

"We all are, Colby," Liz Warner said as she brought him a cup of coffee. She didn't have to reach quite as high for her kiss. She lingered up near his ear, offering words only Colby could hear.

"What'd I say about secrets?" Don Eppes asked.

"_I'd_ say you've got a lot of nerve," Liz replied with a challenging smile.

Don smiled back. "You got me there." Smiles of true friendship were exchanged between Don and his former paramour. They really should write a book on how to survive a workplace romance. Don looked to Colby and said, "Can I see you a minute?"

"Sure." Colby excused himself from his colleagues, taking the fresh cup of coffee with him, and followed his boss into a conference room. They reached the room, Granger closed the door behind them and asked, "What's up?"

"D.C. wants to give you another award."

"What for?"

"Good work."

"Don, I don't want. . ."

"I think you should accept it."

"I really just want all of this over. I don't feel like I deserve it. It was a sloppy, miserable operation," Colby admitted.

"Our work can get ugly, Colby. And you weren't running it. You were an innocent pawn, of your handler, of Lancer. . ."

"I don't know how innocent I was, Don."

"You qualify, bud, believe me." Colby continued to look less than thrilled by the new 'honor'. "Look, accept the award. I'll tell them you don't want any ceremony."

"Isn't that half of why they do these things? To make themselves feel better?"

Though Don hated the cynical attitude, he had to admit that he agreed with Colby's judgment, at least this time. "I'll tell them to send it in the mail, no formal ceremony, and then you can put it in the back of your closet."

"Will this never end?"

"It will. We'll make it. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," Colby warned.

"All right. But in the meantime, since your first week back is on the desk, I've got some paperwork for you."

"Wait a minute. I'm going to be doing paperwork on my first day back?"

"Yep."

"Whose?"

"Well," Don said as he headed from the conference room to his desk. He grabbed a huge stack of folders. "You might wanna ask your partner about that. I mean, he made that newbie work on some of his reports, but he told me he didn't want you to be bored on your first days back on the job."

"Oh he did?" Colby asked.

"He sure did," Don replied as he handed Colby the files.

"Excuse me," Granger said as he took the large stack from Don. "I need to go have a word with my partner." Colby turned and walked with purpose over to the cubicle he and David shared. "Hey, David!" he called as he drew near to his best friend. "What's all this about leaving me your paperwork?"

"I didn't leave you any more than you would have left me," Sinclair said as he rose from his chair and headed down the hallway – to safety.

"How do you figure?" Colby challenged, dropping the folders on his desk and reaching his partner much faster than David figured he would. The two men wrestled, a playful camaraderie that had the entire office smiling. David one-upped his friend by giving Colby's slightly longer-than-normal hair a rough tousle, followed by a playful hug. Granger rubbed the top of Sinclair's bald head and returned the hug lightheartedly. But just that quickly, in front of all who still watched, David squeezed tighter and held on, for longer than was needed for a warm and friendly welcome back. This hug, this embrace held meaning far beyond such a common demonstration.

As Don Eppes watched he saw what not everyone in the room might. He firmly believed in the mantra 'to each his own', and was open to how others felt on the question of religion. For him, in this moment, no matter whether the two men embracing, and then pushing each other away, as men might do, would feel the same, he saw God's grace shining down on them. They were so lucky. He turned to see Liz and Nikki watching the boys play. And then he turned and walked back toward his desk, his smile beaming, his heart full. His team was whole once more.

The End.


End file.
